


The Great Chibitalia Invasion

by ItekNashoba



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-12
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2020-10-16 23:37:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,458
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20611259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItekNashoba/pseuds/ItekNashoba
Summary: Sick of the other nations rejection, Sealand decides they need a reminder of what it's like to be small.





	1. Invasion of the Chibis

Once again, and for what was perhaps the most aggravating instance, Sealand was being _completely_ ignored. Country after country passed him by, oblivious to his existence. Even kindly Japan hadn’t returned his greeting!

_‘But that will change today!’ _Sealand seethed. _‘I got magic from England too, by Dickens!’_

Year upon year, little Sealand studied and practiced the ancient magic arts. Arts England refused to teach, selfishly keeping for himself. Still Sealand read book after book slowly stolen and returned to England’s library; practicing small spells and potions and working his way to more advanced magics. Finally, nearly half a year prior, he had discovered the perfect spell. One that would teach them all a lesson. It was England that told him once punishment without lesson was just an attempt to justify cruelty. Sealand was not cruel, like England; he would not punish needlessly.

He practiced until he muttered the words in his sleep, and saw them behind his eyes with each blink until finally, he perfected the enchantment during a Saturday summer rain. It was a sign, he was sure, to have mastered the spell in time for the G8 summit the following Monday.

Sealand supposed in that moment his virtual invisibility had worked in his favor. He had been able to arrive unnoticed to set his charms before the meeting, and now, slipping inside the conference without a single glance, it felt almost like a super-power. The greater nations were sat round their table, focused on America gesturing wildly as he spoke. Another sign, he was sure. He didn’t even have to whisper, the words rang clear yet completely unheard under the brash man’s bellowing. His charms swayed, dozens of small crystals pulling power through the sun’s warm through the wall to ceiling windows. Everything had come to plan.

It was France to be the first to notice the unnatural reflections of light spinning as Sealand’s magic took form. France screeched a “sacre bleu!” to spur the other nations to action, and Sealand enjoyed the comical way they scrambled. Yet, in all their beginning commotions they still hadn’t noticed him. Germany had folded himself over Italy as if shielding him from a bomb, gun drawn and the pasta-loving man tucking his limbs under the bulk. Japan and Russia had retreated from the table, brandishing their respective katana and pipe for whatever might come. Canada and France dove under the table, the elder nation beginning to pray loudly; Kumajirou motionless in Canada’s chair stared blankly ahead. While England yelled for anyone to start explaining, only America seemed completely unfazed, laughing and dancing under the shimmering lights. No, it wasn’t until white orbs appeared above the G8 nations heads did anyone realize he was even there.

“You little twerp why are you even here!”

Of course, Sealand’s luck couldn’t last forever. No, England had finally become aware of him. It was bad luck for England that at the same time, he and many of the other nations were too busy needing to catch something other than Sealand and the adolescent nation took it as another sign. This one to run.

England made to chase after Sealand but with colorful, short pops, little nations sprung from the Orbs and a chibiEngland knocked him to the ground. Chaos broke as high-pitched wails and laughter filled the small room. Six little nations bounced on the table with varying squeaks and a shocked America caught a chibiAmerica, laughing with glee and begging to “do it again!”

France resurfaced and the adults tried to recover but England was still down, chibiEngland crying loudly. ChibiAmerica had sprung free from his adult form’s arms and had begun to run, jumping onto the conference table and over chairs. What was once a determination to make friends with the polar bear in Canada’s seat had become a game of keep-away-from-the-big-guy-chasing-me. France added to his fun, joining America in an attempt to bring the tiny nation to heel until his own doppelganger barreled over him with a screech.

Japan walked hesitantly to a sniffling little boy that looked just like him, glancing to Russia who was doing the same. Russia’s chibi looked sweet, Japan thought, smiling at him nicely with big, hopeful eyes. His own reminded him of a horror movie spirit. Ju-on? He’d ask America. At the moment, he needed to keep his face a mask as he approached, not thinking he could handle more wailing than was already coming from chibiAmerica and chibiFrance, struggling on the table against an adult France. Behind his own double, Japan noticed who could only be a chibiCanada, sitting quietly on the table with a confused smile. A flash of black had him turning back to a little boy in a big hat stretching for a doorknob he couldn’t reach, holding the hand of –

ChibiItaly in a green dress. Why was Italy-kun wearing a dress?

Japan could not dwell on it as his attention was demanded by a heavy pound reverberating over the pandemonium. All eyes were suddenly on Germany, gun still drawn, with Italy clinging to his jacket behind him. ChibiAmerica leapt over his counterpart to attach to the blonde man’s arm, attracted in his childish way to the noise. “Hey Mister do that again!” he yelped, clutching at Germany’s arm.

To Japan’s surprise, the man raised his arm, chibiAmerica’s chubby arms circled like a snake on a branch and very calmly said “If I must lay down my hand again, it will be over your backside for misbehaving. Now sit.”

Truly, Japan decided, he must learn all he can from Germany because all the horrible clamor ended. ChibiAmerica seemed disturbingly thrilled by Germany’s threat and crawled off his arm, back to the table to settle beside chibiCanada. It seemed to bring change to chibiFrance and chibiEngland as well. ChibiFrance’s flailing ceased and chibiEngland, needing a little help from Canada who was crawling out from his hiding spot, joined the other six chibis on the conference table.

The only chibis that did not move were, who Japan assumed now, a chibiGermany and chibiItaly.

The two must have realized they were too small to open the door on their own. The little boys had taken an eerily similar stance to their adult counterparts, only the chibiGermany had drawn a sword and looked very prepared to use it.

Nervous glances were passed between the adults, but the consensus seemed to be to gesture back to Germany. The large blonde gave one last aggravated look to acknowledge his defeat and holstered his weapon, cautiously making his way to the boys by the door.

The little Germany seemed to have other plans than to submit to the strange adults. With a roar, the boy made and impressive charge that caused Germany to stumble. A rip made him look down to see the child had managed to tear a decent slice in his trouser leg. He was forced to dance foot to foot to avoid further attack before he could find an opening to snatch the youngster from the ground.

The little Italy squeaked as his friend was lifted away, running over to hop after him the inch or two he could. Holy Rome thrashed against Germany’s hold, comical hat popping off his head. “Unhand me! I will-a teach you what happens when-a you cross the Holy Roman Empire!”

The chibi swung his sword with valor but Germany knocked it away with a flick of his wrist. “Stop that, you’re going to end up hurting someone.” Likely yourself, went unmentioned. But the little nation kept struggling, kicking and swinging his pudgy arms. An insistent tug at his pant leg made Germany look down, finding the chibiItaly wearing a little green cleaning dress, and apron. Of all things. _Verdammt. _

The little boy’s eyes were big and watery, clinging pitifully to the fabric of his pants. “Please Sir, will you give Holy Rome back to me?”

_Scheiße, how was he ever going to make it through this? He couldn’t handle two! _“You two will go sit with the others?” Germany’s voice was stern.

Puffing the little boy agreed, nodding his head till his cheeks shook. Taking a deep breath Germany gave one last warning look to Holy Rome before depositing him back to a waiting chibiItaly. The smaller boy promptly moved into the other’s space, brushing his hair back and restoring his hat with a pleased “Ve~”. Holy Rome wrapped the happy chibiItaly in his cloak, taking advantage of chibiItaly not watching his face to glare at Germany. The blondes glowered at each other a moment before the small boys returned to the table, electing to sit in a chair together.

“Aw cute! You guys were always like this?”

_Verdammt America!_ “Unless you have a suggestion on how to deal with our current situation save your babbling as to not distract the others!”

“Okay but what the hell-“

“America!” Russia warned.

“_Heck, _is going on?”

The adults exchanged glances. “Little Sealand ran away. He was saying something while America was talking,” Russia broke. “It is very rude to talk while others are already speaking.”

“Do you think he is responsible for the lights?” France asked.

Russia nodded; France and Germany voicing their agreement. As the others conferenced on how to proceed, instructing France, Italy and Canada to distract the chibis- though not ridding themselves of the very serious Holy Rome and so of course also chibiItaly-, the woozy England regained himself and slumped over the cool table. ChibiAmerica giggled at the familiar face finally coming to and ran from his playmates. “England, hey!”

“Oh yes hello America!” England scooped the small boy closer, chuckling. “This is such a happy surprise! I never get dreams of you when you’re cute anymore.”

ChibiAmerica was delighted with the affection, letting the bushy-browed nation nuzzle his cheek. “You’re still weird!”

“Err, England, mon ami-“ France raised a hand to his friend, but the nation chortled and lifted his little brother, oblivious that he wasn’t in a dream until Russia bopped him lightly with his pipe.

It was hard to tell his expression under his bushy brows. The nations still at the table gave him ominous looks and nods. “But how did they get here?”

“Are we even sure they are really us? We do not all have reliable witnesses from childhood” Japan stated. He very much wanted to avoid the child in his home as Russia suggested. 

“Well this is America,” England interjected. “I’d stake my life on it,” he said, patting the boy with affection.

“Germany-san,” Japan turned, ignoring the bickering that had begun between America and England. “Do you recognize the child with Italy-chan?” He gestured to the boys playing patty-cake.

The man shook his head. “Nien,” he answered, face bleak. “Prussia helped me recover when I was a young nation. Before that, I do not know.” The dismay in his voice was not lost on Japan. He and his friend had spoken once of the nation’s amnesia when the German had been well and truly intoxicated after Prussia’s abolishment.

“Hey Italy!” America called, having been separated from England and the child in his lap by Russia. “You know this kid?”

Italy smiled, on the floor with his lap full of napping chibiRussia. “Ve~ Holy Rome!” There was a swell in his heart. “We-“ Italy couldn’t help his pause. _Grew up together, _wasn’t right. His friend had never grown up. He left one day and never come back only for France to tell him the terrible truth hundreds of years later; vindication like ice in his veins when the flamboyant nation had the decency to look away. “We were friends at Mr. Austria’s growing up!”

“So why is he here and not Germany?”

_How is he here? _Was caught in Italy’s throat. How could he have come with all the others? Where was the little Germany?

“There is way to be sure all is as seems,” Russia smiled, glad he could contribute. He placed papers in front of both blondes. “Our human names are unique, da? Big Germany and Little Rome will write names. Is simple.”

There was a general uneasiness to the request. The adults had already decided on calling the chibis by shortened versions of their names; no one was really comfortable having their full names spoken out loud. Their countries could change but human names were the one thing that followed them for eternity. They were personal. Reserved for family. It was unspoken that no one would repeat whatever the blondes wrote down. Both blondes sneered but jotted down their answers quickly. There was silence and on Russia’s count, the two raised their papers.

_LUDWIG KAISER_

Italy paled, thankful for his place hidden away with the children as he peeked from the corner of his eyes. _Germany was Holy Rome._

With a nod of acknowledgment, the two destroyed their papers; satisfied that they were the same.

“Why would he go by Holy Rome?” America thought out loud. “That’s dumb. At that point just go by Jesus or something.”

“_He_ is-a Holy Roman Empire of-a the German Nation and can-a hear you!” Holy Rome pouted.

“I think it is handsome,” chibiItaly cooed at him. The little blond pursed his lip harder, crossing his little arms. “It is-a long and-a stupid.”

Germany caught the questioning glance from Japan and let out a dark chuckle.

“When he found me, Prussia told me my name was Germany. I guess he thought it was long and stupid too.” The other adults, even America, let that be the end of any talk of Prussia, knowing the loss was still painful.

For the first time, the adults were thankful for America’s inability to sense the mood as he reengaged the room. If Germany noticed Italy’s uncharacteristic avoidance towards him for the rest of the meeting, he didn’t mention it.


	2. Not a stand in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is probably more angsty than I had intended for a fluffy time travel fic but several old abandoned things were added as I explored Italy’s feelings. This was originally part of the first chapter but as it was rewritten and hit by the feelz bus, I felt it needed its own place

By the time Italy finally sat down, he was exhausted. Japan had demanded the meeting end at the scheduled 2100 despite protests that the chibis would need sleep. Not to mention all of them feeling sufficiently unprepared to have children in their homes and had been more hindrance than help during the meeting. Or that he’d maybe been avoiding Germany. The chibis seemed to prefer him; he’d just taken himself out of the way. It had nothing to do with finding out his first love was alive and turned out to be the man he’d fallen hopelessly in love with. Nothing at all.

Pasta wafted the smells of tomato and garlic through the kitchen as they waited for dinner. Chibitalia cooed beside him, placated with his paper and crayons and Italy smiled, a bit of his annoyance subsiding as he watched the two blondes at the counter, the elder trying to keep a semblance of cleanliness as they moved their hands through the flour. Insisting baths and bedtime right after their late sup, Germany began his nightly bread with the help of Holy Rome as soon as Italy had finished the sauce.

It wasn’t clear what thrilled Holy Rome more; making bread with his big self or being out of his stuffy black clothes. Italy remembered him being a serious little boy, exuding frightening energy behind a sharp stare. Even when it had just been the two of them, he had never seemed to let his guard completely down. But stripped to his white tunic and trousers without his hat to push back his hair – Italy was disappointed he hadn’t gotten to see this carefree side of the boy more often.

“I promised Italy I would-a make the focaccia,” Holy Rome announced with glee, reaching for the bushel of rosemary Italy grew in a sunny spot.

Chibitalia trilled, looking up from his drawing, “We were going to make it together and share with Ms. Hungary.”

“You used to make bread with Holy Rome?” The question was innocent, but there was a sadness to Germany’s eyes and Italy knew he was to blame.

“Ve~” Italy tried to hide his anxiety behind a smile. He had never been a convincing liar, but he hoped Germany wouldn’t press too much. “It’s been so long, I must have forgot.”

There was a shift in the kitchen as Chibitalia put down his crayon, little cheeks dropping. “We forget?” he whimpered, turning to Italy with worry.

“Ve~ we just forget things when we get older!” Italy waved his hands in an attempt to soothe the boy. “Germany can tell you! We forget something almost every day!”

Chibitalia made an agonized squeak. “But you don’t forget if you love.” Little quivering fists came to ball at his eyes. Jumbled lies began popping into Italy’s head, but his chibi-self was falling into hysterics. “Do we not love Holy Rome anymore?”

Hiccups shook his little body as he wailed, bursting into a full-blown tantrum. “I don’t like that!” His little fists smacked against the counter and he cried in great, gulping breaths. Distraught, little Holy Rome climbed around the counter and onto his stool. He wrapped the other boy in his arms but it only caused him to weep harder.

“No, no! It’s okay! We still love him! We just love him as Germany now-“ Higher brain function ceased as he heard his words come back to his own ears. He couldn’t have just said that, no not right now.

Chibitalia accepted his confession without question, starting to calm. Holy Rome wiped his sniffling and the two shared content smiles but Germany – he couldn’t place the look Germany was giving him; confusion and guilt and a foreboding grim line where his lips should be. Air flew from his lungs as dread cut cold in belly. _Why was Germany looking at him like that? _

Retreat. Italy is good at retreating. Instinct drives him off the stool and in the opposite direction without a second glance until he’d found himself in Germany’s study curled into the leather chair the German had put there just for Italy. Germany was a good friend, always doing things to help him, he thought, bringing his knees to his nose. _A friend that deserved better than to have a coward that lied and made bambinos cry fall in love with him._

Guilt sank in his heart. Not just because he'd made Chibitalia cry, but because he _had_ remembered. Feliciano would _always_ remember the way Holy Rome would prepare his bread each night. Bread was Holy Rome's pasta. For nearly an hour every night without fail, Holy Rome would be standing on a stool in the kitchen, humming sweet hymns as he combined flour and eggs and oil. At least twice a week he would prepare focaccia, sometimes dotted with the salty sun-dried tomatoes Italy liked so much because they reminded him of summers painting with Grandpa Rome. The two would abandon their chores to picnic in the tall flower fields on Mr. Austria’s land and lie in the sun.

He really was silly, he thought. Running away from a problem he could have just been honest about. He could have just told his chibi self when Holy Rome ‘died’, he felt like all his expectations of love had too. Sure, Italy was a grown nation and had engaged in fleeting affairs to the extent his Catholic faith allowed, but he felt he would never again have anything as uncomplicated and virtuous as the love that Holy Rome had bestowed on him. That he'd promised to wait but when Germany had stumbled upon The Box of Tomatoes Fairy in nowhere during WWI and kept him safe every day thereafter, there was no stopping the German Nation from working his way into Italy’s heart. But a promise was a promise and Italy kept his blossoming love a secret.

So he’d lied to Germany that no, he’d never made bread before when the man asked during the second war and Italy had found him in the kitchen, elbow-deep in flour. He had cherished the way Germany smiled at him when he asked, finally free of the distractions of war. Over the decades he grew to love sitting at the bar while Germany made his dough. They would chatter about their days and Feliciano’s garden and Ludwig’s dogs. On days where Italy thinks he can see Germany smiling at him with something that warms his heart and belly, he’ll bring the burnet over, standing behind him and guiding his hands through twisting and molding the loaf. A different touch than pasta, Germany had said. Those memories were Germany’s, not Holy Rome’s; even if they did turn out to be one and the same. Italy didn’t want Germany to think he was just a stand-in. He would have accepted whatever love his friend gave him, as long as they would be friends.

And now he had blurted out his feelings and potentially ruined the best friendship he’d ever had with a man that was always doing things to make Italy happy at the expense of his own comfort. Who, on more than one occasion, had come to his aid at a moment’s notice even for something as trivial as his shoe being untied. Who always greeted Italy with a warm hug and a kiss -no matter how much that embarrassed him-, and held his hand as they walked the dogs. Who let Italy sleep in his bed at night even if he wanted to be naked because he couldn't move in pajamas. Italy didn't feel like a very good friend. 

The door cracks open and Italy wipes his face before Holy Rome bashfully peaks around the wood. It almost looked as though he was checking the coast was clear, Italy thought - he still does that. Patting the leather beside him, he let Holy Rome approach at his own pace; barely tall enough to meet Italy’s eye’s when Italy picked him up and seated him on the armrest. Seeming sure, the chibi reached forward and pinched both Italy’s cheeks, pulling them out in a silly face before letting them snap back and smooshing them together with both hands. Giggles bubbled out of Italy; he hadn’t forgotten Holy Rome’s way to make him stop crying either.

“Did I make-a you feel better?” Holy Rome looked pleased with himself.

“Ve~” Italy grinned and finished wiping away his tears. Maybe it was time for some reckless honesty. Before he made another bambino cry. “Just remembering why I fell in love with you again.”

The little boy flushed, bringing his fingers to twist together. “Okay, well-a, just so-a you know” he spoke with all the shy determination of a child and held out his hand for Italy to take, keeping his eyes away. “I’m-a going to-a fall in love with you again-a, too.”

* * *

The kitchen was filled with Chibitalia’s happy squeals when they arrived, a plate already in front of him with another ready for Holy Rome. He kicked his legs from atop the booster of books arranged on his chair as he greeted them, babbling excitedly as Italy set Holy Rome in the seat next to him. “Mister Germany let me finish the pasta and he grated cheese for me. Ve~ there is such nice parmigiano here! Holy Rome!” Chibitalia took and shoved a piece of white cheese into the other boy’s space. It didn’t surprise Italy that the blonde ate it from the offered fingers without apprehension and he smiled.

“It’s-a good.”

“Ve~ I am so happy!”

A hand on his shoulder brought Italy back to the present and he saw Germany set his plate. With a trepid twitch at the corners of his mouth, he let Italy know dinner was served.

* * *

Dinner had been a pleasant affair. Seeing them together, it was almost frightening to Italy that he hadn’t made the connection between Germany and Holy Rome before. Even young, the blonde preferred to listen to Italy during dinner, they ate their food in the same order, took drinks at the same time. Admittingly, he hadn’t noticed that either until Germany pointed out the behavior of him and Chibitalia, but after couldn’t stop seeing everything the two blondes did exactly alike. 

But dinner was over and the chibis were washed and tucked into Italy’s bed in the other room and there were no more reasons for Italy not to be explaining his episode to Germany as they readied themselves for bed.

For the first time, Italy questioned what he would wear after his shower. He would run back to his house to get clothes he needed, but he had his own section in Germany’s wardrobe and more often than not wore the blonde’s oversized shirts around the house. His toothbrush and products were in Germany’s bathroom, the left side of the bed was unofficially his; the nightstand held his underwear and socks and had a photo of him and fratello. Before tonight, it hadn’t dawned on him that he hadn’t used the guest bedroom in years. Hadn’t bothered to ‘sneak’ into Germany’s bed either. He was expected.

Staring at himself in the bathroom mirror, he knew what he would have done before the chibis had arrived. Without question, he would have already been out of the bathroom, wearing Germany’s shirt from the day “Because it smells like you Germany!”. The blonde would hate that he dripped on the sheets but would dry his hair anyway with Italy between his thighs. Then, Germany would lie back to read his books while Italy burrowed into his side, tangling them together to fall asleep. It had been their routine for almost 50 years.

He willed himself the courage to control his blushing skin as he slipped into Germany’s shirt; a nice cream one Italy had bought him in Venice when his friend had come to see the canals. Remembering the sunny day exploring his favorite city with his favorite person wasn’t helping the pink burning in his ears. He slapped his cheek, gathered his resolve, and left the bathroom. The only problem - Germany was nowhere to be seen. Confused, Italy left the bedroom and padded down the hall.

Muffled voices came from what was once his guest room. He could hear Germany, but couldn’t quite make out the words. Italy pressed his ear to the door.

“I just needed them to read the story. Now that’s it’s over will you sleep?” A tiny shuffle and the scraping of a chair gave way to Holy Rome’s little voice. “I do not-a to wear glasses like Mr. Austria.”

“But you look handsome Holy Rome!”

Italy could hear Germany groan. “Then it’s settled. Gute Nacht.”

A click of the light turning off alerted Italy to back away from the door in time for Germany to step through, reading glasses hooked to his shirt. When he saw Italy his mouth set into a tight line, face going blank. Now Italy felt a little ridiculous in just Germany’s shirt and underclothes. “Little ones restless?”

Germany nodded and began making his way back to the bedroom, Italy in tow. “They wanted to sleep in our-my bed.” He stumbled. “Chibitalia did. Little Rome would have followed. I did not think that was a good idea.”

_Is it not our bed anymore?_ “Ve~” Italy sighed. “A very good idea.” He shifted distressed. He felt small. Perhaps his mind had just shown him what he wanted to see when he thought the other man had smiled at him earlier. Doubt choked him and spread through his chest when the blonde man wouldn’t fully meet his gaze. “Germany? I’m sorry if what I said upset you tonight.”

“Why did you say it?”

Italy had never heard that tone from Germany. “Because it’s how I feel,” he whimpered. _Look at me, please. You don’t have to love me back. Just look at me. So I know we can still be friends. _“Germany?”

But Germany didn’t look, fixated on the patterns woven into the hallway rug as the two stood in front of Germany’s bedroom door. “I gave you permission once to use my name. Why don’t you?”

The question caught Italy off guard. “You don’t use mine either,” he pointed out.

“You rejected my proposal. It didn’t seem right.”

His mouth gaped like a fish, unsure if he had heard Germany correctly. But the blonde had finally met his eyes and Italy knew he had been waiting for whatever answer came next. His heart fluttered. _Germany had proposed?_

“You told me you loved me then, too.” Germany’s voice cracked, but Italy’s heart broke at how dismissively he said it. The smaller man made a motion to talk but the larger powered through. “Looking back, I shouldn’t have thought so much of the roses you gave me. I don’t think we spoke for a week after, at least,” Germany’s face contorted with a grimace. “I told myself I was an idiot. You bounce around like a sledgehammer; breaking the boundaries of respectable behavior. And I had- ” Italy watched as the frustration broiling under Germany’s skin was replaces by helplessness. “Misinterpreted your affections. Perverted our friendship. I can’t-” Germany drew a deep breath, looking away, large shoulders sloped with defeat. “This time you have to tell me what you mean, because I don’t understand. I don’t understand _you_.”

With a feeble voice, he repeated the promising words that had kept him from acting on his feelings for Germany for so many decades, “I’ve loved you since at least the 10th century.” Slowly, Italy reached out and slipped his timid fingers along Germany’s thick ones in a plea to understand. "But I couldn't break my promise to you then to love you now."

He felt Germany’s hand jerk away, but before he could choke on his shame it came back, shaking, to cup his face.

The hand stroked to his jaw, fingertips dancing with life as they tilted his chin. Their eyes met only long enough for Italy to recognize yearning before fluttering shut, captured in an amorous kiss. Germany’s nose pressed into his cheek, warm breath misting around him and he felt himself falling deeper into the sensation. He snaked his arms around the larger man’s gloriously broad shoulders to keep him upright, anchoring his hands in what little blonde hair he can grab. A strong arm found bearing around his waist and a whimpering moan forced past his lips, giving Germany an opening to experimentally slide their tongues together in a slow caress. And oh, Italy thought, they should have been doing this for years. Their mouths slot together effortlessly and Germany seems to know just when to stroke their tongues together or tease his lips. The hand on his jaw traces fire to his neck and the angle is changed but it’s better because now Italy’s being pulled closer until he’s sure Germany is trying to kiss himself right into Italy’s soul.

All too soon Italy’s lungs demanded air; he’s lost balance so high on his toes and broke the kiss, chased with delicate presses of Germany’s lips. Light-headed had never felt more accurate as he held on to Germany, reeling and short of breath. If the beating of Germany’s heart in his ear was told the truth, so was he. “Ludwig?” Italy whispered.

A massive hand threaded through his hair as the other man gave a gentle, questioning grunt. “Yes, Feliciano?”

The smaller brunette man hides his red smile in the soft cotton of Ludwig’s night shirt. “Let’s go to bed.”

There’s a relieved sort of half-laugh above him. Ludwigs took the lead, making sure the door behind them was silent and pulled Feliciano into bed. The burnet whispered all the ways he had fallen in love into the taller man’s shoulder and relished the way strong arms closed around him and lured them both to sleep.


	3. Adjustments

Notes for chapter 3: Dialogue is such a drag -_-, can you tell I hate it? Writing it in a way that makes it sound natural is probably the hardest part of writing for me by far. This fic started as a drabble on the computer a few years ago after the thought that the chibi-countries would probably be friends with Russia; I like scary-teddy Russia. Also Germany holding up Chibitalia was too cute.

*Warning for a dark joke and MAJOR potty mouth by America in KJ2. Seriously, fuck. 

*

Russia was very pleased with the happiness the little Ivan had brought to his home, like sunshine, he thought. Perhaps the centuries of frozen tundra and unpleasant alliance with General Winter had made it so others could feel the icy wickedness of his heart, but the little Russia was still warmth and goodness. When Russia arrived home with him, there were nothing but smiles.

The Baltics had doted on him. Latvia took Ivan to play with his wooden trains and Estonia made a hot dinner before bed. Lithuania, much to Belarus’s dismay, received the bulk of his affections and had been the one Ivan asked to help him bathe and tuck him under the plushest blankets they could find. The normally trembling man who was so terrified of Russia had fawned over the boy, reading him a bedtime story with a soft voice while gently stroking his hair. 

Big sister Ukraine had come for a visit the morning after learning the news, bringing her largest potatoes and a bottle of vodka. Ivan had let her smother him with hugs and kisses and she joined him and the Baltics in building a snow family. Belarus had the honor of picking him up while he arranged their faces, and Russia didn’t think there could have been anything more wonderful. If people could be friends with little Russia, they might see they could be friends with big Russia too. He would not even hide his name; he had nothing to hide from those who would become his friends. 

Quiet Canada would be over soon, it made him think. The two had arranged for their chibis to play since the nations were both cold and everyone would be taking a day to adjust to the sudden disruption in their lives. More joy Ivan had brought him; people willingly coming for a visit and arranging visits for him in return. He was only disappointed that visit meant he had to let them leave eventually, Lithuania had reminded him. But that would not be so bad, friends would all join Mother Russia eventually.

Not long after entering Russia’s thoughts, Belarus was helping Ivan affix stick arms to the snowmen and Canada arrived. Willie had needed to be carried through the high snow but when he was put down, it made Russia feel fuzzy that the little boy shyly asked for a hug before going to play with the other chibi, followed by Kumajirou. He liked that Canada shook his hand and asked how he was doing. Lithuania gave him two thumbs over Canada’s shoulder, confirming his hopes that he had performed an acceptable greeting. 

Russia smiled. Today, he would follow all Lithuania’s silly rules and then, Canada would be his friend.

*

America wondered if this was payback. Or cosmic punishment. 

“Cool!” Followed a shatter and America doubted he had anything of value left to break. Whatever, no fucks given, he thought. He lacked the energy to move from his laze on the couch. Tony had vanished as soon as the chibi arrived and America had spent nearly every moment chasing, wiping, scrubbing, vacuuming, and washing since. He was no neat freak like Germany or Japan, but Jojo had totally screwed with the relative tranquility of his home. Dinner had been smooshed into his carpet in favor of eating a stick of butter that melted in oily drips around the house. AmazonNow had delivered ‘safety cups’ that still managed to be spilled or outright opened and poured at the boy’s amusement. 

What was the worst though, was the little bastard didn’t seem to like him. He had been really excited to have the chibi over! He wanted Jojo to have someone around that wanted to be around him without going away like Engalnd used to, but no - it was just “where’s England” and sour looks and absolutely ungodly strength that succeeded in keeping America at arms bay.

The little monster was awake at five o’clock by some horrific mistake of nature and hadn’t passed out until after midnight. Bouncing around the brownstone slamming doors and cabinets, he had startled his older self awake from his passed out position on the kitchen floor and set him to task. There were wax remnants on every handcloth America owned after having to scrub crayons off his walls, trying to pry melted scraps from his carpet. It had only been a day! And the markers. America hated the person that invented markers because at least crayons didn’t stain monster hands that constantly touched everything and just how did they manage to be sticky all the time? And he kept trying to bolt anytime America opened the front door. Did the kid want to die? 

Jojo ignored anything America said, making it his mission to do the exact opposite. Tantrums were an hourly occurrence and inevitably for asinine reasons. It would be the crust on his toast or wanting a different shirt or god forbid, America dared to enter the same room once when the chibi was coloring because “This isn’t for you get _ out _ !” He knew who the chibi was drawing a picture for too, and it pissed him off even more. Jojo was dredging up all kinds of bad memories and America hadn’t done anything but bring the kid home and try to take care of him and was being repaid in broken _ everything _ and sticky handprints _ everywhere _. 

“America? Your door is open, I’m coming in!” Yeah, cosmic punishment because if it wasn’t, anyone _ but _ England would be at his door.

The man hauled himself to a standing position and tried to work the kinks from his back. A loud crash caused him another moan as little feet slapped somewhere in the house. He took in the damage as he walked the hall. America really hoped that whatever brown substance on his walls was marker or chocolate, even though he doesn’t know how Jojo would have gotten chocolate. Broken picture frames, a table that may need to be replaced; the leg didn’t look good. Looked like Jojo had tried to take some of the decorative weapons off their displays; he should probably clean the broken vase before the chibi cuts himself. And was that a hole? Correction, multiple little holes. 

The wooden soldiers carefully placed in squad formations around the living room really pissed him off. 

America found England in the courtyard, Jojo and Kirk running through the grass. “I say America, it looks like a bomb went off in there.”

“Yeah hi to you too,” He grumbled. “Tell me Kirk’s worse.”

England chuckled with a smug grin. “No friend, my home is intact.” 

“England! England!” Jojo ran up to the men, completely ignoring America, with Kirk close behind. He threw himself at the empire, grabby hands and naked toes wrapped in the fabric of his jacket. “We want some soda!”

“Well, that’s no way to ask for anything,” England drawled. “Try again.”

America hated that the kid smiled back and seemed only too happy to chirp, “can we have some soda, please?”

“No, you may not. You may have either lemonade or water. What would you like?” 

Kirk answered for him that they would both like lemonade, and the three left for the kitchen to return a few minutes later, cups in hand. America hated that his chibi-self held the cup with both hands, taking tiny steps, beaming up at England’s praise _ ‘such a good boy didn’t spill a drop’. _ He waited for the chibis to be out of earshot before directing a seething ‘asshole’ towards England.

“What did I do? I know we don’t always get along, but I am trying to help here,” England’s voice was flat. “Not that I should since you don’t even have tea.”

“You’re not.” America shot him a dirty look, “helping. And why are you here anyway?”

“Forgive me,” the older empire mocked. “You have everything under control. Your home doesn’t look like a warzone, and little Alfred’s a cherub.” 

“Jojo.” America groaned. “And fuck you, this is all your fault anyway.”

“My fault?!”

“Who else?” America accused. “Sealand is your territory.”

“That hardly makes me responsible for every stupid decision he’ll make,” England retorted. “If that were the case I’d still be responsible for you.” 

America grumbled and crossed his arms. “Take Jojo then.” He looked at the playing chibis, chasing after each other. “He’d rather be with you anyway.” 

“Because despite what you would like to tell yourself America, there’s a time when you were a shy little boy who depended on me for everything,” England told him. “Wanted it to be me as well. That’s who Jojo is.” He pushed his hands in his pockets and looked at the carefree boys who had moved on to stick-swords, little Kirk correcting Jojo’s parry stance. A twinge of regret passed through him at the boys’ laughter; he didn’t recall teaching America much along the lines of proper pirating. “I do miss it at times.”

The men stood in tense silence for a moment, but from America’s expression, he wasn’t reminiscing as England was. “And I went and screwed it up for you by becoming independent, right?” 

“Listen, America-” The older nation reached out only to be rebuffed. 

“If you wanna help just keep them out of my house for a while.” Adjusting his glasses, America retreated to the house hoping England would be able to manage his request. 

*

Japan had arrived at Germany’s with his younger all too early in the morning. The adult nation had looked awful; baggy-eyed and dressed in his previous day's clothing. Chibitalia may have woken him and Italy to the knocks at the door by using them as a bouncy-house, but they had at least slept- though Germany most impressed the Italian had the foresight to wear pajamas. The European nations had offered him a guest bed, but face blanching, Japan had refused. Instead, he unloaded the chibi unto Italy and urged Germany for a private conversation in the living room.   
  


“He frightens me, Germany-san.” Japan insisted, weary behind his coffee. “Last night he spoke to spirits - he knows things he should not.”

Germany acknowledged his superstitious friend with a nod but didn’t quite understand. “What kinds of things?”

“He knows about Naga and Hiro,” the words spill quick and shaky from his lips. “He came crying, asking if we will heal. He said they could have warned me. He asks why I cannot hear ‘them’ anymore, but I cannot recall ever hearing ‘them’ at all.” 

Italy had once lamented that Japan showed little emotion, but to see Japan break down had him at a loss. He did not know how to comfort Japan. Comforting Italy had become as natural as breathing; hugs and kisses and kind words with promises of pasta but Japan had never needed his comforting. Yet now, amid silent, gasping sobs - “Why don’t I remember?”

Japan needed Italy. 

After an awkward pat to the head that had him promptly retreat with embarrassment, he nearly tripped in his rush to the kitchen. The brunet was turned to entry, fussing over the chibis at the dining table. Cheerful squeaks and laughter ringing around him was like plunging into cold water after being confronted with Japan’s despair. 

“Japan is crying,” he blurted out. Eight eyes turned to him, mixes of confusion, worry, and from little Honda, fear. “Can you?”

“Say no more Captain!” the Italian said with a determined salute. He rid himself of his apron and made his way quickly with only to stop at the taller man and tap his cheek, “Ve~ Good morning kiss, Luddy!” 

Germany knew Italy would be more affectionate, and demand more in return, but the request still made his face warm in a way he hoped was not too noticeable as he leaned in to comply; jumping out of his skin when the shorter man turned at the last moment to kiss his lips and was off before the blonde could react. 

He turned to the table. By Holy Rome’s red cheeks he had definitely seen that, but Chibitalia jumped from his chair and ran to follow, crying “I can help!” and stopped at Germany’s feet, rocking back on his heels patiently. The adult was bewildered until the child tapped his cheek twice. He sighed. Chibitalia had seen that too. Not to be fooled by someone who didn’t reach his knee Germany picked him up, placed an embarrassed peck on the squirming child’s cheek, and set him back, letting him run after his adult counterpart. 

But Honda, eyes drilling into the table had not witnessed the kiss and Germany found himself in the chair beside the boy on instincts he would question later. “Are you okay?”

“Did I make him sad?” Honda-chan’s voice beside him was small, hidden as he kept his head down rearranging the face he was creating with his fruits. Regret choked him, the little boy was sliding his berries into a frowny face.

“Nein!” Germany exclaimed, regretting the volume when the small boy recoiled and took a deep breath. “Nein, it is just-” 

Honda’s large dark eyes took a faint sheen of wetness. How did he explain to a child that one day, all of them will have lived through and done terrible things? He had not been able to assuage his friend of many decades, and his own remembered experiences with Prussia - bandaging the foolhardy albino more and more often as his empire shrank. How his brother recklessly put himself in harm’s way in an effort to keep Germany strong. Prussia would sit him down after every battle and retell his tales of conquest. _ “Look at the awesome me! Ja, with how many battles I have won there will be no one left for you to fight,” _he would say. 

Prussia had been wrong, but smiling at bittersweet memories Germany decided to try again. “Will you look at me?” At a sniffling nod and turn, Germany smoothed his hand over the boy’s dark hair, combing it away from his eyes. “Japan told me you saw his scars, yes?”

Worry furrowed the small brow. “No, Kappa-san told me.”

Germany nodded in an attempt to mask his confusion. Perhaps kappa was the word for wind; he did not remember. “Did Kappa-san tell you why?” 

The boy shook his head again. “His body has scars because he has been to war. My brother had them, and despite his efforts, I have them as well. It makes him sad to know you will have those scars one day,” Germany explained, hoping it would be sufficient to quell the child’s questions. 

“Oh,” Honda nodded, face relaxing. He seemed to research the answer in a strasberry**, poking a druplet until red juice fell to his yogurt. He swirled it gently before raising the pink mixture. Recognition put a smile on the boy’s face and he flicked it back into the bowl. “If he hurts, we can China-san for medicine.”

Germany cleared his throat in an effort to mask how dumbfounded he felt. Children could truly recover quickly. “Does China have medicine that looks like that?”

The boy nodded happily “It does not taste as good.”

For all their bickering as adults, little Japan fondly recalled his nii-san to his new friends. It was uncanny to hear Holy Rome offer tales of his big brothers France and Spain - not that Germany would ever call either of those dummkopfs brother. Honda had the blonds wrapped in a story or China’s sea voyaging adventures when Italy tapped Germany quietly. 

Adjusting Chibitalia in his arms Italy whispered “_ He fell asleep captain” _and that the guest room was prepared, Germany understood the implied request to go move the older man. The vibrant brunet seamlessly took over the children, hearing “Japan didn’t sleep and tiredness makes you silly. That’s why you should take siestas,” as he left. Used to moving Italy, Japan was decidedly more still and had been much easier to relocate to the guest room, sure to pull off the other man’s shoes before setting him under the covers. 

When Germany returned, only Chibitalia remained nearly licking his empty bowl-and it looked as though he had finished Holy Rome and Honda’s as well. At the thudding of Germany’s boots the little boy turned and lifted his arms, looking very expectant and Germany knew he was defeated. He picked the child up, wiped his face, and joined the others in the courtyard.

*

A giggle bubbled out high and interrupted his singing as the knee he sat on bounced in response to his wiggling. Big Rome had submitted himself as a chair for Chibitalia as he drew in the garden, which made the adult country all the easier to draw. Not that Big Rome paid any mind to the staring boy. He was as equally consumed with his Italy, moving around the garden humming and rattling off about siestas and dinners and whatever else crossed his mind. They were touching more today, he noticed. Not just big Italy touching Big Rome, but the blonde was letting his fingers stray or turn to slightly brush his lips against big Italy’s hand. The large man would still tense at a hand on his shoulder or cheek, but he would turn red and softly hold the other hand anyway, so maybe he just hadn’t overcome his shyness. At least he didn’t stare anymore. 

Chirps of _ ve~ _escaped him. Holy Rome had run off with Honda-chan to learn samurai, their sticks snatched by Big Rome’s dogs. There were incredible flowers he couldn’t name yet that grew despite the crisp breeze that blew their fragrance over him, and yet he was warm. Last night, he and Holy Rome had thought to join the adults but when they peeked into the hallway, their big selves were coming together in a passionate embrace that he thinks would make Grandpa Rome very proud. They had climbed back under the covers and Holy Rome had held his hand until they had fallen asleep, whispering plans to paint and make pasta every day when they were big and the fighting stopped.

Chibitalia was glad that Holy Rome would love him as a boy too - that he would protect Italy and together they would be a powerful empire. When the brightness flashed and he had fallen from the sky and hurt his tushy - he had been so afraid. There had been so many strangers and so much yelling, but Holy Rome had appeared! It had been so long since Chibitalia had seen his friend but Holy Rome had taken his hand and promised to keep him safe. He had even tried to fight Big Rome for him! Holy Rome and little Japan could play now- he would be with Italy forever, funny new accent and all. 

*****

Fuck England.

Fuck England for making burnt scones and salty boiled meat that Kirk and Jojo ate like it was the best meal they’d ever had even though for Kirk it probably was. Fuck England for spending the day at his house like he wanted to be around, and _ ‘oh but it’s late, be a chap and let a man sleep in the spare’. _ Fuck Kirk for following him around all day with big green stalker eyes asking for ‘magic food’ and using up all his bruise balm because he kept hurting himself trying to ‘help’ and being all cute-

Fuck the Englands for making him think.

Because if the stupid Englands hadn’t been making him think all day and wearing out his brain, America wouldn’t have agreed to let England sing the chibis to sleep _in his bed _while he had to pace his own house and stupid Jojo could have just snuck in with England later. _That’s what he used to do_. England should have just taken them both, America thought, but Eyebrows had insisted that two sleeping chibis were too much trouble. The older nation had needed to calm tears from Jojo that he’d be fine sleeping with his big self and the hellion only agreed if Eyebrows would sing his ‘sleepy song’. 

And Fuck England for agreeing. The old lullaby melodies had been muffled by the heavy wood but he still heard them every time he approached the door. When it was finally silent on the other side, he had only peaked to make sure England was gone. But no. Of fucking course not. Kirk was turtled into his pillowcase but the adult England was snoring, curled around a sleeping Jojo, both looking snuggly and warm and oh so freaking _ happy _. Why couldn’t England have just put them to sleep in the guest room?

There were few worse ways to end the worst day of his life, but they all ended with him dead. If he wasn’t a country it still would - if he had to do it himself. This wasn’t the plan._ Too much trouble my ass. _

Fuck England. Fuck magic. Fuck chibis. Fuck everything.

Without closing the door he turned tail. He kept going. Past the guest room. Down another hall. Turn the corner. Go down the stairs. Another hall. Open the door. Close the door. Lock the door. Outside. Garden. Down the path. Tony’s hangar. Unlock door. _Lock _door.

Safe.

Under the faint glow of Tony’s spaceship, America finally took a breath, timing himself to the high humming as he calmed. Only he and Tony had keys. The doors and hardware had all been reinforced and even as an adult he would have difficulty breaking it down if he really wanted to. Yup. Perfectly safe.

A hiss made America look up to Tony’s ballonish head hanging from the now open hatch. “Fuck you want bastard?” 

“England’s in the house.”

“Limey Bastard!” Tony seemed to understand and gestured America into the ship. 

“Thanks, just don’t probe me,” the blonde sighed. He sulked over and reached, lazily letting Tony close the gap and pull him into the ship. 

*

Russia was caught off guard. Lithuania had not prepared him for this. Let chibis play. Let them leave. Do not ask Canada to become part of Mother Russia. Those were rules. He thought the North Americans would leave when they were done. Everyone else left when plans were done. He had given Canada many chances to gather his chibi and leave. Truthfully, he had thought Canada would have made an excuse long before making pancakes and both tiny nations crashed, sticky with syrup and warming by the fire with Kumajirou belly up between them.

But Canada proposed a drink to warm up before going home, more maple treats - cookies it looked like - seeming to appear from his pocket. The thought then crossed him - he often overheard the other nations speak of nightcaps with company instead of alone, where neighborly conversations fostered trade relations and, if done right, unions. Russia could not keep his surprise, overwhelming joy shaking him as he fumbled out “da-da” and retreated to his kitchen.

Yes, he thought, sbiten beginning to fill the air with warm spiciness, the bear of a nation found himself thankful for young Sealand’s spell. 

*

After guest beds had been made and children bathed, the late hour after dinner and cakes, it was decided that Japan and Honda would stay. Eyes blown in wonder Honda-chan had listened so intently to the bedtime story he fell asleep sitting up, hands propped in Blackie’s fur. Holy Rome and Chibitalia hadn’t fared any better, though they had at least laid down first. The dogs made for cozy guards and he and Italy had played dirty shortening siesta time after coming to understand just how energetic three children could be, and so much sugar; it had been impossible to deny Holy Rome from making dozens of tiny confections once Germany had taught him how and the children had eaten them all with or without permission. 

Germany rearranged the tiny nations among the pillows and turned out the light. It was soothing and he gently rubbed his eyes. Holy Rome had hidden his glasses and they still hadn’t found them; he could feel a headache building from having to squint so long. In truth, he only finished the story to make sure the chibis were deeply asleep. Careful not to make too much noise upon leaving, he met Italy and Japan in the foyer. The men broke from their hushed conversation, Italy meeting him for a hug before tugging him to the sofa. 

“Thank you both again for the hospitality, and it seems also congratulations” Japan greeted him, nodding slightly. He had slept most of the day away and returned for dinner, engaging in his quiet way but bedraggled and aloof.

Germany’s face burned as Italy molded to his side as they sat and he shot a look of apology to their guest. “You are always welcome Japan,” Germany replied. “But may I ask-”

“I apologize for my outburst Germany-san, Italy-chan, ” was stated curtly, distressed and wholly unlike his friend. The man wrung his hands in a vice grip, fingers flexing into his knuckles. “I’m sure it was the lack of sleep, and I am not used to company.”

“Ve it’s alright Japan,” Italy chimed, interlacing his fingers with Germany’s. “It was fun. They played outside and drew pictures and even Germany took a siesta! And we made cakes and rice balls, Honda's so creative he was telling us about, what was she Germany?"

"Weisse Frauen," he provided.

"Ve~ white lady. He said she told him how to break the spell."

“Thank you Italy-chan for all your hard work,” Japan interjected. “Though I am sorry that I did not do more to help.”

“Their arrival certainly calls for adjustments. Still-” Germany tightened his grip around Italy’s fingers gently. “I had many brothers as a young nation, more than I knew,” he said. He glanced to his companions before confessing, “it has been nice to see my home full again.”

Gloom passed over the Asian man’s face, “adjustment, yes.” An unconvincing agreement to Germany’s, but he did not want to press. The day had taken it’s toll on the man and seeing the gears in Japan’s mind turn, Germany only hoped whatever thoughts plagued his friend would pass. 

*

FOOTNOTES: 

*Naga and Hiro - Nagasaki and Hirojima. Headcannon that those sites are reflected as large scars. 

**The **Strasberry** or _ Fragaria × ananassa _ 'Mieze Schindler' is a variety of the [ garden strawberry ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Garden_strawberry) , with a [ raspberry ](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Raspberry)-like appearance, originally developed by the German breeder Otto Schindler in 1925.

Oh Ukraine and her large potatoes…

If you are reading, thanks for coming back to this fic. Long story short - I work in 3w/2w rotations, meaning I am on a site or sites for 3 weeks then home for two weeks so the plan was to post a chapter when I got home and before I left again.. I’d say 70-90% of the time I am in an area with no internet or reception (which is pretty much why I’m there) so I can type in word all I want, but I can’t save copies to google docs. Well, it’s winter. No one likes our job in winter and half of them drop off so I picked up a week or two (because that Christmas bonus yo) and if I am a dumbass like last rotation and forget my external hard-drive and my computer crashes, I lose everything. So finished chapters 3 and 4 were completely lost and most of my google notes were outdated so rewriting from memory has not been easy(and I never write anything in order; I have big chunks at a time that end up getting pieced into something semi-decent). I think I also changed about 30% and added a 1k+ words (and started a new multi-chapter fic that I will be finishing before posting as well as a few smuts so sorry that delayed this a bit as well). 

  
Chapter 4 is still being revised, but I'm hoping to have it up by new years since I have 2 weeks off.  
  


Chibi name guide for those that would like a little assistance:  
  


Italy – Chibitalia (Feliciano Vargas) 

Germany – Holy Rome (Ludwig Kaiser) <- Kaiser is my headcanon last name for Germany based on him not being given a last name and it’s meaning as the German Emperor, the Emperor of Austria, or the head of the Holy Roman Empire. 

America – Jojo (Alfred Jones). They started as Alfie, Mattie, and Artie but as I was writing a. Alfie is so obviously Alfred that it defeats the point and b. Jojo sounded more American. Not just American English but ‘Murica. 

England – Kirk (Arthur Kirkland) a. see Artie defeating the point and b. Captain Kirk. 

Canada – Willy (Matthew Williams) - a. see Mattie defeating the point and b. Willie Nelson because Chibitalia Invasion Universe Canada is always high and that’s why he can’t remember Kumajirou’s name (ever) Oh Canada!

France– Bo (Francis Bonnefoy) <-Bo becomes the French Beau, also Bo-nnefoy

Japan – Honda-chan (Kiku Honda) The first drafts I have chibiJapan’s name as Kiki, but as I was writing it just wasn’t making sense for Japan to accept such an adorable name for someone that scares him and would have been as formal as possible. 

Russia – Ivan (Ivan Braginsky) - In his own words (narrative) “He would not even hide his name; he had nothing to hide from those who would become his friends.”


	4. The Kids Aren't Alright

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm literally just trying to get this posted as I run out the door to drive to site and I blame America for being a brat that can't communicate.

*

Simply getting to France’s to meet the others with three chibis had been exhausting, and would have been far less so if Japan had been any help at all - came brusquely to mind. Holy Rome had ambushed him the moment he woke up, bizarrely fixated on his bedhead, and requested his hair be done like Germany’s. Bonding with his younger self had actually been quite enjoyable, but Chibitalia had not tolerated Holy Rome’s absence long and completing the task with both chibis in his lap had taken considerably longer due to Chibitalia’s ‘help’. Honda had not liked the pants Italy had tried to dress him in, really any pants at all, and they had relented to let him wear a large shirt instead as long as he wore something. The first had been itchy and the second the wrong color, until half a wardrobe later he was satisfied in Italy’s fluffy house robe while the two made breakfast.

But by far the most perplexing (and to Italy’s perverse joy) was Chibitalia’s new persistence of calling him “Big Rome”. He had accepted it as forgetfulness; the mixing of ‘Germany’ and ‘Big Rome’ the day before but the infectious way the pseudonym spread was beginning to feel intentional. At correction, Honda had looked at him confused and asked if “Germany” was whom they were going to meet and Holy Rome shrugged it off. Japan had suggested not responding to the name, but it had only ended in tears from Chibitalia and again, Germany caved in a futile attempt to keep them on schedule.

When the chibis saw an automobile in light for the first time and they were fascinated. Well, Honda was. At the start of the engine Holy Rome had tried to attack, leading to a combative conversation on why he had a kitchen knife and how they were not weapons, nor did he need any weapons on their journey, and yes, the car was perfectly safe. During which conversation, Chibitalia had retreated back into the house causing yet another delay when they had to search for the boy; needing to be changed and wiped clean after finding him hiding in a flour bag. Seatbelts had been such a foreign concept that Germany found himself pulling over every few kilometers for the adults to get the children back in their seats, prying them from windows and stopping them from climbing over the back or opening doors. Honda had nearly given the adult a heart attack, squirming under the passenger’s side and beginning to try and dismantle the strange machine. In the end, Japan and Italy sat in the back seat, confining Holy Rome and Honda to their laps with Chibitalia agreeing to be still under the condition he could take the seat next to “Big Rome”. Their journey only continued after being convinced the man could not drive with Chibitalia on his lap and Germany glared as the other men exchanged smug looks, quickly becoming frustrated with how evidently he was held hostage to the chibi’s whims. 

Parking had been another hassle and Germany silently cursed France’s narrow streets when the children flung the doors open to the glares of passersby. At least Chibitalia had been satisfied clinging to Germany but so many strange things in all colors and new shapes had been a minefield that the adults had been unaware of. The men had chased Holy Rome and Honda down the block until capturing them again, though Honda had ‘found’ a black cap and was covered in unknown fluid and Germany ended up having to buy a bouquet of lilies Holy Rome had tried to barter for. It led to further embarrassment when the boy presented a half to each Italy to be awarded a kiss to his cheeks - he was sure the elder only did it to taunt him if his smirk _ (when did Italy learn to smirk-was it a smirk?) _was anything to go by. 

With Honda on a leash fashioned from their belts and Holy Rome appeased in Italy’s arms, they were the last to arrive at France’s. Seeing the ragged state of them, France kept his comments to pointing Italy and Germany to the others outside before leading Japan to the bathroom; though not before dressing the child in a trash bag to prevent him from dripping. They joined the other nations in France’s parterre, setting Chibitalia and Holy Rome down to run hand-in-hand down the short hill to the other chibis and England. 

“Russia has vodka,” America greeted flatly and Italy stifled a noise of disgust. The younger nation’s dirty sweatpants and oversized video game t-shirt offended his Italian sensibilities.

“You look terrible!” The brunet man lamented, taking a seat next to Canada with Germany sitting beside him. Russia held up a silver flask from his place between the brothers. The large blonde waved it away but at the far end, America held his soda for a refill that was promptly obliged. 

“Yeah not everyone’s getting to play happy family,” he spat, taking a long gulp. “I had to bring extra clothes.”

“Ivan and Wally are fine,” a proud Canada was heard over Germany’s protest.

“Willy,” Russia corrected. “Where is Japan?”

“What did I say?”

“We’re not playing happy family!” Germany repeated to deaf ears.

“Ve~ Honda got dirty trying to take apart cars, or maybe a scooter?” Italy answered, oblivious to his fretting boyfriend. “It’s been really different but we’ve had fun.”

“Aww,” America snarked. “Mommy and Daddy gonna take the kids to Disneyland?”

Germany flushed. “What the hell is your problem America?” 

“My _ problem _ is my house is destroyed and that the little weirdo _ tracked _ me outside last night. He slept outside Tony’s bunker!” America slumped in his seat. “I’m pretty sure he dug a latrine.”

“Which one?” Canada asked. 

“Jojo hates me genius, which do you fucking think?”

“This is not what we are here for,” Germany pinched the furrow of his brow; he felt desperately close to begging. He had fought with children all morning. He would never admit out loud, but he had been looking forward to speaking to adults. He would not continue to fight with an overgrown child. “Please, enough. America, if you wish your life to return to normal we need to _ focus . _”

“You’re not my dad,” Russia pulled the younger nation’s shoulder with a firm grip as he curled his lip and flexed at Germany’s chair screeching backward. 

“Ugh, perhaps you need a strong father figure.”

“Go Die Frenchie!”

“Welcome back. Hello Japan.”

“Thank you Canada,” France replied graciously as he and Japan returned, pulling chairs around the side to further separate the blondes on either end. Honda had gone to Italy and Germany first, tugging at the lacy sleeves of his robe and smiling when Italy assured him_ “yes that feels very nice, it’s very pretty”, _then pattered off to join the other chibis down the hill in a wisp of navy. The men waived away Russia’s questioning. “Such beautiful lilies, Italy,” France commented before seating himself. 

The burnet nodded, smiling as he ran his fingers over the petals. “Holy Rome bought them.”

“_ I _ bought them.”

“Don’t be jealous Dad.”

Germany slammed his fist on the table. “Verdammt America, I swear one more time-” 

“I will beat you in front of your wife!” 

“We aren’t married!” Being the subject of gossip, how Prussia would love this! Though if there were an afterlife, his brother was sure to have some otherworldly hand in his current humiliation. 

“Wait seriously?” America shot a dumbfounded look around the table. “Oh, come on, I’m not the only one that had to think that! The necklaces, and the living together!”

While Canada’s returning glance was sympathetic, France waived a nonchalant hand at the young nation. “Vous êtes un enfant, you don’t have to be married to show your love for each other. You have common-law marriage in your country.” 

There were sure to be indentions from his hands in his hair. Was this really what people thought of them? “We don’t live together!” 

“Eh,” Italy put a pitying hand on Germany’s shoulder. “We kinda do- the last 50 years, at least.” Memories of the chibis’ first night home warmed him till he melted into Germany’s side. He granted America a rosy smile, fiddling with the Iron Cross pulled from under his shirt. “But being together is new. We just told Japan yesterday.”

Germany flooded with color at France’s excited giggle as he poked Italy across the table for gossip, asking “_ when _ ” and _ “I thought that dull muscle would never propose! Tell me tell me!” _“It’s not -!” Germany’s eyes pleaded to Japan beside him but the island nation shook his head. “Japan!” But the smaller man again offered no solidarity. “Japan, please!”

“I am glad your second proposal went better.”

“Dude, you had to propose twice?” 

“I didn’t-” he stuttered. He had proposed - just not twice but he would not say that now. And it didn’t matter because Italy hadn’t accepted anyway! “We aren’t - We were just,” but he choked. “Friends.” His words weren’t matching the scenes behind his eyes of waking up next to the Italian, days filled together and nightly dinners. Calling the Italian on his way home and receiving his own calls and texts through the day; consulting weekly plans and greetings of hugs and kisses. Mein gotte. He realized he couldn’t be upset with Holy Rome. Germany brought home flowers once a week. No, Italy just liked flowers. And there was a perfectly fine shoppe near their-his-

_ Scheisse _ _ how long had Italy lived with him? _

“Ve~ it’s the truth. When Holy Rome left I promised him I’d wait, so we were just friends. I felt really guilty falling in love with Germany, so I was really happy when he was Holy Rome.” Italy’s weight leaning against him did nothing to calm his racing thoughts and Germany tried to match the smaller man’s breathing. “Even though Big Brother told me he was gone, I was still hoping he’d come home, ” he looked up at his blushing stone of a boyfriend with all the love he could muster. “I’m glad he did, even if my heart knew before my head. ” 

“That’s so romantic,” Canada sighed, leaning into the table.

“Seriously? I’m gonna barf.” Russia clinked America’s cup with a _ ‘da’. Germany wanted to die. _

France pressed a harsh finger to Italy’s forehead. “Big brother was never treated so sweetly,” he said, “Aren’t we friends? Where are my kisses? And I wouldn’t have yelled at you for crawling into my bed.” 

”Friend France, are you sure it is Germany you are jealous of?” France’s face fell when he looked where Russia was pointing, only briefly registering Italy’s comment of _ “he hasn’t yelled in a long time” _before the ramblings after faded in his ears. Though he would rather focus on Ivan and Willy plucking his flowers and ruining his garden, or England being circled by Kirk and Honda in the oddest way, his attention was taken by his own Bo. Jojo and Holy Rome were running followed closely by Chibitalia, though Holy Rome not far nor quickly. It only took a moment for France to deduce their game and how incorrectly Bo was playing. Instead of running from Chibitalia, he stuck straight alongside Holy Rome. They paused, and France couldn’t hear what Holy Rome stopped the game to tell him but whatever it was, did not deter Bo from chasing after the other boy again when he resumed running. Moments later when Holy Rome tripped, Bo frantically dropped to his side. When the other blond took Chibitalia’s helping-hand instead, France’s little self stomped and wailed, clearly confusing the other children. 

France turned his nose as the men around him laughed with the exception of the Axis. “Holy Rome and Bo live in the same house!” he spat in rebuttal to a crude comment - far too impolite to be referencing children- from America. “And I will remind all of you of Confédération du Rhin.”

“You were a grown man against a clumsy boy. Si, mighty conqueror,” contempt riled Italy’s words and Germany slipped their hands together under the table to steady him. 

“Not so grown now,” Russia chimed as Bo abandoned the game of tag and made his way to Ivan and Willy. To his delight, the two took turns embracing Bo then tugged him into their piles of flowers and began to show him their weavings. With a soft thunk, his heart fell on the table. He hoped France would let them keep their flower crowns.

“Ve, that’s true,” Italy looked to the playing children; anywhere but Russia’s exposed heart he was shoving back in his chest. Holy Rome tripped again, Chibitalia reaching to help him up - and now Italy felt the racing Jojo was playing with his imagination as he dove into a bush. “Holy Rome and Chibitalia know each other, but they’ve been apart for a few years. And you were an adult then.” He turned to Germany. “We promised to take them to see Hungary.”

“Oui, Bo is very young.” France’s expression was grim. “Charlemagne rules his Europe.” 

“Many things are new for Ivan. He thinks Nordics are scary!” Russia laughed. “Toilet training was very interesting. What about the little America?”

“Don’t call _ New England _ that to his face. Already lost that fight.” America offered his cup for a refill to the larger man. “And Jojo and Willy didn’t know each other.”

Expectant eyes turned toward Japan. “Honda-chan is young,” he supplied, but shook his head to America’s rolling wrist.

“So helpful.” 

“Da!” Russia smiled, America’s sarcasm either wasted or ignored. “Little Sealand brought us all before we had established our own central governments.”

“That’s true,” Canada agreed. “And it’s more than we knew.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s helpful,” America sighed. As much as it pained him, Germany had to agree. The chibis’ timelines were still scattered and the only common factor seemed to be their size, though Honda was certainly smaller than the rest. 

“Oy!” England called, making his way up the hill. “I’m knackered, someone else take a turn.” 

The table nearly toppled as Russia lept from his seat, bumping America’s chair and making his way down the hill with a skip that made Italy go cold, but the three blond children in the flowers welcomed him with squeals heard from the adults and draped him in their crafts. Germany winced when Italy’s grip on his tightened as Chibitalia took Holy Rome’s hand and dragged him over to the stranger, letting the large man lift and hug them. 

Jojo, Honda, and Kirk, however, seemed oblivious to the giant’s arrival. Jojo was off in his own world, now upending shrubs and appeared to be wearing them as hats; chucking them shortly after. The other boys, to Japan’s horror Germany noted, were too preoccupied harmlessly talking to a tree. 

“I suppose _ I _ will go stop Jojo from destroying my parterre?” France glared at America.

“He’s more likely to listen to you than me,” he said with a bored gulp and the older nation sighed, beelining to the colony. America slid his chair as England finally reached them and took Russia’s place, slumping deep with a loud crack to his spine. “Sit in France’s seat.”

“I’m already here.”

“America-san, perhaps we can go get more drinks,” Japan suggested. 

When he suddenly stiffened, Germany was unsurprised to see Honda running towards them, Kirk weaving around him with sticks in hand. They easily cut under the table, dropping their swords and taking handfuls of England’s pant legs. “Usagi,” Honda said, impossibly large black eyes up to England. 

“Flying mint bunny needs a break, and so do I,” he said, ruffling the boy’s dark hair. Kirk stuck out his lip. “Don’t be like that,” he dropped his voice to a conspirators whisper. “The fairies need your help defending the elf tree from Captain Hook and Admiral Unicorn. Not my old bones.” Honda's eyes lit, nodding and frantically grabbing his stick before rushing off with a squeak of affirmation, but Kirk’s fuzzy brows furled, and he grimly announced that he would seek the ‘troll treasure’ with Jojo, or die trying to find it. 

“That sounds like a neat game,” Canada complimented as the boy solemnly returned to his friends with his stick high - contrasted by America’s _ “the fuck?” _

“I have to say I’m a bit surprised. I didn’t know you could see spirits, Japan.” England nodded to Canada; twisting out his shoulders. “Honda’s even been attracting matagots-”

“Now that you are here, England,” Germany interrupted. He really did need to speak to Japan privately, he thought; he hadn’t realized the nation could lose so much color. “Perhaps you could enlighten us to the nature of Sealand’s spell?”

“It brought the chibis.”

“I meant why, Italy.” 

England folded his arms and leaned into the table, focused on the metal. “I don’t know, to tell you the truth. An ace spell, I’ll give him that, but I haven’t figured out why; or even which bloody spell it is. I’ve been searching my library, but he must still have the book.”

“We must get it from him.” 

Menacing waves radiating from the Asian caused England to back his chair away. “Japan, why does it sound like you’ll kill Sealand for that book?”

Canada nodded. “We could just ask nicely. Has anyone tried calling Finland and Sweden?”

America raised his brother’s hand and slapped it with his own. “Canadia had a good idea!” 

“Was that sarcasm?”

But England shook his head at the brothers. “I seriously doubt they’ll do anything but hang up.”

“What if we ask in person?”

“Italy-”

“Ve~ Germany, think about it. Mr. Sweden’s a big softie with kids,” He raised a finger in thought. “We bring the chibis, they use their big eyes and tell Mr. Sweden they want to go home. He’ll probably drag Sealand home himself.”

Despite the smaller man’s enthusiasm, Germany agreed with America’s muttered disparagement of the idea. While their diplomatic ties were amicable, Sweden’s demeanor was frigid as his home and Finland didn’t associate far beyond his family. Still, if Sealand were to be found, it would be best they had the help of his ‘parents’. “Japan, you get along well with the Nordics. Perhaps you and Honda would join us?” 

“Perhaps I could go after Sealand?” Japan’s small voice pulled the attention of the group.

“Dude, no offense but you look like shit.” _ Very tactful, America. _

“Sorry Japan, but it’s a good idea,” Italy peeped. “England could do it; he used to be a pretty decent pirate.”

“Pretty decent? The nerve,” the Empie scoffed. “I should go just to eat those words.”

Italy’s head cocked. “Ve? Are you not going to go after him?”

“I should be looking for a counterspell- in the event we aren’t able to find Sealand. Or worse.”

“Yeah, like that’s been going so well,” America murmured darkly. “We’d be better off if you actually went after him.”

  
  


Italy caught his attention with a quirked brow and Germany knew he was thinking the same - whatever memory caused England his chuckle had a very different meaning to his former colony. “Jojo would hate it. Remember how squeamish you used to get crossing a river? Besides, Kirk isn’t ready for that sort of thing. No, I won’t subject the poor lads to the open ocean.” 

“Why the ever-loving _ fuck _would you take Jojo?”

Germany did not have time to dwell on America’s clenched fist. _ “I’m going to catch you!” _ and a giggle drew their attention to Chibitalia as he made his way through the gardens and reached them with a squeal of victory over the persuing France. Whether the other nations were taking amusement at Germany’s humiliation or little Chibitalia’s struggle to climb his lap (even Italy-the traitor), he did not appreciate their brazen laughter. Germany lifted the child and he fused to the man’s chest, grabbing his arms and wrapping them around himself to shield from the slight chill, which only led to more snickers and several ridiculous gestures from France. 

“Big Rome, I am starving. Will you make me pasta?” he pouted, stomach seeming to ask the same with a loud gurgle. Germany groaned. Italy had caught Holy Rome in the night, fists full of bread claiming Chibitalia had gotten hungry. The boy had been given an adult-sized breakfast portions and had eaten 3 apples during their drive as opposed to Honda and Holy Rome’s one each. There was simply no bottom to his belly. 

Germany tried to ignore the guffawing men, _ Big Rome _ whispered around him. America’s crude, “ _ Yeah Daddy he’s starving” _ in particular burned in his ears _ . _“There is no pasta now.”

“But that’s why we make some!”

“We will make lunch soon,” he tried, only to be answered with “but I’m hungry _ now.” _

“I have cookies,” Canada offered, producing a small Tupperware. 

Chibitalia squeal of _ yay! _ Was dampered as Germany pulled him back. “Do not take treats from Canada,” he said, a stern glare commanding the flanneled man to put away his container; ignoring the child’s _ “ _but why?” 

“Drugs.”

“Italy!”

“What’s that?” 

Canada only laughed at America’s suggestion to feed the batch to Jojo. “No, they’re fine Wylie and Ivan had some earlier.” 

“Willy,” England stressed. 

“Isn’t that what I said?” Italy patted his shoulder with a _ “try again.” _

“Enough,” Germany groaned. “Wait just a while longer. Lunch is soon, we will have dinner at home and if you continue to be good I will make kuchen for dessert.”

“And I can help?”

“Yes, you may help,” He assured the pouting child with a shake to be thanked with a jumping curl of arms around his neck and the embrace masked his pain as Chibitalia landed on his jewels.

“Dear lord, you bake?” England chaffed.

“And it’s better than anything that’s ever passed through your kitchen!” His face burst and he tried to hide the shame of his prideful outburst. _ What was wrong with him? _

A breathy _ hon-hon-hon _ broke Chibitalia’s attention to France’s outstretched hands. “Come with Big Brother and we’ll go start lunch, oui?” the man nearly sang, but the small boy only scrunched his face at his brother, gave him a firm “no”, and began to mimic his big self rubbing the arm of the humiliated Germany. 

“Ita, are you still mad at Big Brother?”

“Si!” Was far too happily chirped by a child declaring eternal hatred.

“Wait, why are you mad at France?” Italy gave the boy a gentle nudge, causing him to squirm and giggle, but not answer. 

France rolled his eyes and tried not to think too much that he was kneeling at Germany’s feet when he brought himself to be eye-to-eye with his child brother. “Then why don’t I make it up to you? We can go make fresh pasta?” 

Chibitalia wrinkled his brow, tipping his head to the questions. “I want Big Rome to make me pasta.” Germany was surely dead and this could only be a hell designed specially by Prussia. 

“Duh Uncle Fancy Pants,” but a crinkle, not his comment, had eyes on America. The men paled; Italy held a hand to his mouth. 

“What’s that?”

America held up the open package. “Hot dog,” he waved the floppy thing at the chibi and took a bite, causing France to wretch. 

“What’s that?” 

“Why are you eating them raw you wanker?!” 

“All this lunch talk made me hungry idiot!” 

Chibitalia scrunched his face at the nations ignoring him and tugged Germany’s arm. “What is a hot dog?”

“It’s like sausage,” Italy answered, then, after a wrinkle of thought, “but you should cook it.”

“Can I eat it with pasta?” A more demanding roar came from his stomach. 

Canada smiled. “America and I eat it with macaroni all the time, right America?” His brother nodded after another bite, but France stood with a scream. 

“I can make macaroni,” Italy added. “It’s lots of fun. The chibis could help! Big Brother always has plenty of cheese and butter too.”

Horrified, France jumped to his feet and leaned clear across the table in plea. “Non, non, non! Over my corpse!” he wailed, but the two ignored him, eagerly planning the lunchtime activity.

Chibitalia clung to Germany at his brother’s increasing tantrum, eyes beginning to well. “Big Rome I am _ so _hungry.” 

Over. It was over. His pride would not survive the visit from the chibis and Germany sighed, standing with a pinch to Chibitalia’s cheek. “Let’s go get the others, ja?”

*

Hot dogs in macaroni and cheese. France would have to move, and it thrilled England to no end. After all, how could a refined gastronaut such as France,_ “on his honor as the country of France!”, _ live with a kitchen where someone had _ boiled hot dogs _and had proclaimed all through lunch that he should have let every one of those little demons starve rather than allow something so disgusting to be served from his kitchen. America having the processed meat with him had been less surprising than France allowing it! He’d offered alternatives of course - begged to make the children a luxurious multi-course meal, but at the exotic call of hot dogs, the eight chibis overruled him. 

It had been a clamor of squeals and mess as 16 tiny hands were given their tasks, folding the ingredients into dough under Italy and Germany’s supervision. Once the hot dogs cooled and Italy finished the pasta - Chibitalia, Bo and Willy excited to drop handfuls of cheese - Russia did his best to make shapes in the meat and England wouldn’t deny the man had earned his hugs from the children as he topped their bowls with the crudely carved rabbits and octopi - and ‘snakes’ when the others didn’t turn out as well. An altercation broke between Jojo and Chibitalia when the American ruined his meal with catsup and England was still in awe how the little Italy had been so aggressive both Germany and Russia had needed to separate the three - Holy Rome coming to Chibitalia’s defense. He made his own mental note never to mess with Italy’s food when Germany had to make a second batch; sniffling boy monitoring from his shoulders. 

But thank the high heavens for siestas. England would have to start indulging in the occasional siesta himself. Magical things. One by one the ankle-biters had dropped, dead to the world and pliable enough to be carted away. Unsurprisingly Chibitalia was first, exhausted from his successful revenge, which forced Holy Rome to follow suit as he had no power when the smaller boy simply lied on top of him. Thinking it was a game, Ivan, Willy and Bo had constructed a fort of cushions and only pretended at first before succumbing and try as he might, Honda too had fallen when Canada had picked him up and bounced him still; humming his national anthem. Though he wasn’t entirely sure where his own chibi was, England was sure Kirk was similarly conked out.

Jojo, his Jojo, had been the very last. “_ Will you be here when I wake up?” _Yes. Yes, he had promised but it stuck needles in his heart. When had America stopped wanting him around? 

“You should leave while he’s sleeping.”

England briefly turned to his former colony, “I’ve already said I’m not leaving. I have better luck finding a spell in my library. And Jojo wouldn’t do well on the sea.”

The young nation’s expression was blank as he watched England soothe gentle fingers through Jojo’s hair. “Why?”

“What do you mean why? I’ve told you, I-”

“It’s been bothering me,” America interrupted, crossing his arms. “You’ve never had a problem leaving before. Why now?”

“I promised-”

“And it never stopped you before.” 

“Because he needs me.”

From America’s expression, England had given the wrong answer and wished he knew what the right answer was. It was finally clear to him that America’s animosity wasn’t directed at Jojo, but towards him. “Whatever,” The younger nation checked his shoulder roughly as he passed. “I’ll find Sealand.”

“America, wait,” the Empire set Jojo aside slowly and reached out. “Why-” He choked. Gone were the summer skies of America’s eyes and in their place were frozen pools England hadn’t seen over 200 years. 

“Maybe if you had tried this hard to be around the first time, I wouldn’t have had to become independent to come see you.”

There was no fight from the shocked England when the younger man wrenched his arm away and stormed off; angry mantra, _ “God damn, stupid, idiot, motherfucking asshole!” _ echoing after him.

** _*_ **

“Do you feel better?”

“Fuck!” America’s head bashed on the cardoor frame as he whipped around to find his brother with his chibi in his arms. “Not after that fucking heart attack. What the hell are you doing skulking around Canadia? I thought you were long gone.”

Canada slowly approached his brother with a smile. “I wanted to check on you. Plus, Russia thinks we may be able to help find Sealand with a GPS satelitte,” he shuffled the sleeping Willy for better grip. “France and I are going to check it out tomorrow.”

“Good for you,” America replied, stuffing his bag in the backseat. “But I can find Sealand on my own. A hero like me doesn’t need your help.” He had a foot in the car when his brother grabbed the door.

“Alfred-”

“Dude what the fuck?” Air blew hot from his nose and America pushed out of the car with a growl. His eyes darted around them. “What are you doing?” 

“You’re gonna play dumb? Fine, just-” Canada sighed, raising a hand in peace. His brother was such a hosier. “Call me when you get back. I’ll order pizza and we’ll play rainbow road all you want. Deal?”

In his defense, Canada supposed, his brother wasn’t so bad. America’s hug had certainly surprised him, but he’d been careful around Willy and hadn’t squeezed too hard. Firm, but he thinks America needs it.

“Thanks. And be careful around Russia,” America whispered. “I mean it Mattie.”

“Yeah Al, I got it. Don’t worry ‘bout me, eh?” 

Canada looked away when America broke away and wiped his nose, pretended not to notice how red his eyes were and waved until his brother drove around the corner. 

*

_ Alfred _. The second Kirk heard his name, he knew he’d be great. America was already great but knowing he was an Alfred? The Anglo Saxon’s Alfred was a great boss; strong and smart and brave. This Alfred was all of those things, too. Plus he had delicious magical food and gave him a nice smelling healing salve- the potion the fairies had given him for his injuries smelled like rotted crow’s eggs. The clothes piled on top of him even smelled better. 

And they were both oblivious - that was very good. No one had noticed him crawl into the man’s rucksack while the other children went down for their naps. It was like sneaking out to find gnomes only this time, he had managed to make it all the way onto Alfred’s ship. And what a great ship. Kirk could tell, even the tiny bit he could see from the hole he’d poked in the bottom of Alfred’s bag. The outside looked to be made of a thick silver; the floor polish shone so brightly he could see his own green eye watch him as Alfred made his way through the amidships in sure, long strides, horn loud and true as it signaled the ship’s departure from port. How he wished he’d been able to see it shrink on the horizon!

However, Kirk could have done without being tossed like old apples.

“Ow!”

His hands had just managed to reach his sore head when his bag opened. His eyes flung shut at the force of the light opened just as quickly to see his den grow smaller; lifted by the seat of his pants. Blue eyes pulled him deep into the depths of Davey Jones’ locker and suddenly being a stowaway in the future did not seem like the best idea the young England had ever had.

**

* * *

*Bonus Excerpt I really wanted in some chapter. I kept trying to jam it 3 and 4 in but it ruined the flow so take it because I love HRE

*

Hopeless, he thought with a grimace at his reflection, and he had made a mess too. Mr. Germany had a very nice home; sound of structure and clean and nothing like the current state of his house and in his trials, all he had succeeded in accomplishing was a wet floor. Water was simply not enough and again, a clump of hair fell forward to drip in Holy Rome’s eyes. He simply had no idea how the adult managed it without a hat. A horrible image popped into his mind. What if his big self was bald? What if it was a wig?!

Fear jolted him and he stumbled with a squeak, grabbing the towel on the handlebar in desperation but only bringing it down with him as his stool rocked and he fell to the floor with a crash. There was a quick, brutal thunk to the back of his skull and loud thudding that he thinks is just in his head until the bathroom door opened and Italy peaked inside. In a haste, Holy Rome tried to cover his burning face. 

“Eh? Mio Roma?” Slowly, Italy let the door drift open and approached the child on his knees. “Did you have to potty?”

“No!” How humiliating. That was worse! “I was cleaning,” The boy snivled, stood and grabbed the fallen towel with a pout. “I fell. What are you doing up?”

“Don’t try to change the subject, but I was getting water,” he said, taking the towel and pressing it to his face in gentle swipes before using it to tussell his hair, stopping when the boy winced. “Oh Roma did you hurt your head?”

“Si,” he blushed, nose feeling stuffy. How was he to take care of Italy if he couldn’t even do his hair? He was supposed to take care of Italy. He wanted to take care of Italy. Germany did. He was supposed to be Germany malum sit!

“Ve~my sweet Luddy,” Italy shushed, smoothing a hand through the dampness with a smile and Holy Rome could only let the burnet settle him close and kiss the swirl hair. “You’re all wet.” This was no good. Why did he have to be so pathetic?

“Ita said he liked Mr. Germany’s hair,” Holy Rome confessed, looking at his lap. His Italy had also said Mr. Germany was handsome, but he doubted the big Italy would think the same of him, crying like a baby. He did not want the adult to see his puffy face. “I wanted to try but it’s not working.”

“You know, I like your hair like this, too,” the adult replied. “I’m the only one that sees Germany with his hair down.”

Holy Rome pushed the tears from his cheeks. “Really?”

“Si,” Italy swayed him. “But mio Roma, why so late?”

Holy Rome’s head tilted until he could look stright up at the adult. “I wanted to practice.”

“Ve~,” Italy laughed, lifting the boy with him as he rose. “Always such a perfectionist. Come on, bedtime now and we can practice in the morning,” he kissed the child’s cheek. “We’ll ask Germany to help.”

“And your water,” the boy whispered.

“Si,” he giggled at a rumble from Holy Rome “And a snack.”

After a stop to the kitchen, bread and water in hand, Italy carried Holy Rome back to bed, letting him crawl to his Italy and assisted tiny Honda from his dog pile to breathe; Aster not at all pleased her ‘pup’ was rearranged from under her. A soft ve and chirping chews made him look to the other boys. Chibitalia had cuddled close, awakened it seemed from smell alone and sleepily ate bites of roll Holy Rome offered. “Will you bring me bread when you are a Big Rome?”

Holy Rome glowed pink, a familiar smile on his lips. “Zja-” the boy stumbled over the foreign word, but the effect was the same and Chibitalia nuzzled into his shoulder. Italy whispered goodnight when a pull came to his wrist.

“Wait,” he tugged on the adult’s arm. “You’ll still do my hair?” He whispered. “Like Mr. Germany?”

“Like Big Rome,” Italy winked, kissing their cheeks and creeping out of the room. 

The door closed with a dull thud and Italy tip-toed down the hall back to his own bed. He had snuck into Holy Rome’s bed when they were little; when the storms or creaking winds would’ve otherwise kept him awake. And as it turned out, had prioritized his bed for sneaking as an adult too. Italy chuckled softly to himself at the vision of Germany in the moonlight. Blond hair tousled and burrow unfurrowed - like his little self down the hall. And on Italy’s nightstand, the bread and olives Germany had set out before they went to sleep; he set his water beside them. 

Big Rome indeed.

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FOOTNOTES: Italy is a GOD DAMN TROLL. 
> 
> Always #1: I hate dialouge. Dialouge heavy chapters make me want to bang my head on my desk, and if I didn’t just throw my hands in the air and say fuck it that’s good enough, this fic would never get finished. Good thing is Canada and Russia don’t speak much. In fact, I think I made Canada talk a bit too much but one of my notes for this chapter was: Canada just thinks it's nice people are remembering and noticing him. 
> 
> #2: The first drafts of this story are like, 5 years old at this point and their age shows. And I mean I was a terrible writer 5 years ago. I’m not great but man, getting through some of that to find out what was actually a good idea but poorly executed is like listening to a kindergardener practice the recorder. Everyone was so out of character. Admittingly, I kinda busted out the first 2 chapters without combing through them like I am now. 
> 
> At first, I was disappointed that I had lost this chapter but I think I changed almost all of it (like 8 times now as i rewrite this on thanksgiving. Timestamp: New Years - I’m gutting this chapter. On the re-reads I’ve spoiled the ending and now I’ve got to rewrite this chapter and 5. Save me. YOU CAN BLAME AMERICA FOR THIS CHAPTER TAKING SO LONG I NEED THE LITTLE BRAT TO TALK ABOUT HIS FEELINGS 
> 
> TIMELINES:
> 
> Chibitalia, Holy Rome, JoJo and Willy - Scattered 1600’s - After England meets America but before the brothers are introduced. Holy Rome has been gone for about 10 years. 
> 
> Bo, Kirk and Ivan - Late 700’s to 800’s - Charlemagne is the Roman Emporer, and by Hetalia rules Bo and Holy Rome live in the same house right now. Vikings have not formed the Rus State so Ivan is in the Early Slav period of his history. Alfred the Great is King of the Anglo Saxons and England’s boss. 
> 
> Honda-chan - Early 400’s - Both the oldest and youngest of the chibis, if any of the other chibis even exist, they are infants. Roman Empire and Germania are still going at it half a world away. Looks the smallest and acts the youngest - while the other chibis are like human 5-7 year olds, I put Honda at 3. 

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, now I'm gutting a 5 year old fic. 2-3 month updates.


End file.
